


Choices that Make Us Who We Are

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:38:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's spent a long time now hunting the things that lurk in the shadows. What is he supposed to do when his own boys are taken and turned into the exact things John would never otherwise hesitate to put a bullet through?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices that Make Us Who We Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [4422shini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/4422shini/gifts).



> Written for [](http://spn_summergen.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_summergen**](http://spn_summergen.livejournal.com/). Now with [GORGEOUS artwork](http://pandionpandeus.livejournal.com/41041.html) by pandionpandeus! :D

There's not a drink in the world strong enough to give to John Winchester right now, but that doesn't stop Bobby from pouring a generous helping of whiskey and watching to make sure John downs the whole thing.

He fills the glass again, then takes a seat on the rickety old chair across from where John is seated on the couch. "Tell me everything," he finally says.

John brings tortured eyes up to meet his. "There was a nest." His voice is rough from a dozen sleepless nights and a thousand frantic phone calls and a world of fear that Bobby can only begin to understand. His jaw clenches, and he gulps the second glass of whiskey like it's water. "There was a nest," he repeats, and it's followed by the sound of the glass shattering as it falls from his shaking hands.

~

The boys have been asleep for hours.

The sad truth is, John couldn't even look at them as he'd driven across six states to get to Bobby's, only stopping for necessities like food and gas and bathroom breaks on the side of deserted roads. Sam and Dean had stayed hunkered in the back under a blanket, and he hadn't once been able to so much as glance in the mirror and reassure his boys that things were going to be okay.

Now he needs to. Even if he doesn't know if it's true, he needs to _try_. He's their father, and they trust him to make things okay. Even at eleven years old and with all the things he's already seen, Dean still has a little boy's faith in his father. John can't betray that by letting him down now, when Dean and Sam need him the most.

So he goes into the room where Bobby put them to bed, and he forces himself to look at them.

He doesn't know how he'd react, coming upon this scene if it was someone other than his own boys. He thinks all he'd be able to see are monsters, and he hates realizing that. He doesn't know when he went from knowing there were evil things out there to believing that _everything_ unexplained had to be evil, but he hates it.

All he ever wanted was to keep his boys safe. All he _wants_ is for his boys to be safe.

They're curled together in sleep, just like they always are when John's between hunts and they're forced to share a bed. Sam's tiny body is clinging to Dean's, his head nuzzled in under Dean's chin. Whimpering a little in his sleep now, the way he does when he's trapped in a bad dream. And Dean holds onto him, protecting Sammy in sleep just as determinedly as he does when they're awake.

The scene is the same one he's seen too many times to count, except that this time, Dean has large leathery bat-like wings wrapped around Sam, like they're shielding him from the world. So dark they're almost black, large enough that spread out, they're probably nearly as wide as Dean is tall.

Sam's own wings, smaller than Dean's and fragile-looking with youth, are pulled in tightly against his back, rustling softly every time he trembles from whatever it is he's dreaming.

These are his boys, and God help him, John looks at them, and he can't help but see monsters in their shadows.

He leaves the room as quietly as he came in, and he doesn't look back.

~

"Gargoyles," Bobby says, shaking his head. "I shoulda known, but damn, I thought they were wiped out centuries ago."

John's pretty deep in the bottle by now, but it doesn't stop him from taking another generous gulp of Bobby's whiskey before he asks, "So what did they do to my kids?"

"Well," Bobby says, scratching at his chin. "Near as I can tell, it's some kind of curse. The gargoyles were protecting themselves, sort of a...shield. The boys touched it, and..." Bobby shrugs. "They were given characteristics of the things themselves. You notice anything strange, besides the obvious?"

John squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing at his temples like it's going to help the headache he can feel forming. "Dean's eyes. When I found them, I grabbed for my gun..." _Instinct_ , he wants to say, but it doesn't excuse it, not really. "Dean threw Sam behind him and sort of...hissed at me. And his eyes went red. Crimson red."

Bobby nods slowly. "That fits too. When gargoyles are angry, most lore I found says their eyes glow." He sighs. "John, I don't know what you want to hear. By all accounts, there ain't no cure for this. You try and cut those wings off, your boys are gonna turn to stone. And gargoyles can't undo their own magic, even if you could track 'em down again. Which'll be damn near impossible."

"Shit." John drops his head into his hands. "What am I supposed to do, Bobby?" His tone is begging, now, something John Winchester hasn't done since the night he found his wife pinned to the ceiling, but he can't help it. He's never felt so lost; he's always been rock-solid in the belief that he can protect them from anything.

"Those are still your boys in there," Bobby tells him. "Gargoyles...by all accounts, they're harmless. They ain't _evil_ , John. They ain't like the things you hunt."

If he'd known that before he went after the sons-of-bitches, maybe it would've made a difference. But John learned to stop living by should-have-beens a long time ago.

~

Sam curls up in the backseat, his quiet snuffling the only indication that anything's wrong. Dean sits next to him, petting Sammy's back, trying to offer comfort, his hand running up and down Sam's spine and between his wings without hesitation. "S'gonna be okay, Sammy," John hears him whisper to his little brother.

The flickering red in the depths of his eyes is the only indication that Dean is feeling anything at all, and John pretends he doesn't notice.

~

_It's not forever,_ John tries to tell himself. _I'll be back between hunts._

Except that there's always another hunt, he knows that better than most.

Caleb is watching him, John sees as he adjusts the rearview. One of his houses - because Caleb is a paranoid son of a bitch and has several - stands at the edge of the property, and John can already see Dean making his way inside. Sam stands by Caleb, wings and head drooping, tears running down his face as Caleb puts an arm around him and draws him close.

That should be John there, comforting his boy. But John can't do it yet, John isn't capable of it. And John can't give up the hunt, he's just not ready.

Caleb and Jim and Bill and Ellen will take turns watching over them. They're good people, John trusts them. This place is smack dab on the edge of nowhere, no other hunters are gonna find his boys and hurt them. And John will check in, call when he can and make sure they're okay.

And he'll be back.

Of course he will.


End file.
